


And I Must Scream

by VulpixSinistre



Category: H.I.V.E. Series - Mark Walden
Genre: Blood/Wound Mentions, Broken Bones, Buried Alive, Car Accidents, FebuWhump2021, Hallucinations, Hospitals, Impaling, Imprisonment, Mentions of Violence, Mind Control, Poisoning, Smoking, TWs will be added as chapters are posted
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:55:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 10,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29123034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulpixSinistre/pseuds/VulpixSinistre
Summary: The Contessa has not had an easy life. And yet she puts on her mask, and she smiles, and she carries on as if nothing happened. But no matter how you try to block the memories, they still remain.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 6
Collections: febuwhump 2021





	1. Control and Be Controlled

**Author's Note:**

> Maria honey I’m sorry I’m doing this to you sweetie
> 
> Anyways wow this first prompt is perfect for her

A whisper was all it took. 

_ Do as I say.  _

The stakes could be as low as she pleased. 

_ Enough of these questions, Mr. Malpense.  _

Or as high, if she felt devious enough. 

_ Shoot Miss Brand. And then yourself.  _

Without lifting a finger, she could end someone’s life. 

_ Stop. Breathing.  _

Why did they not fear her more? This gift of hers, the power it gave her, it ascended her above all others. They were sheep before her. Lambs she could charge with their own slaughter. 

True, it could be resisted. But she could crack them eventually. Chisel their minds down until all that remained was the pretty little leftovers, perfectly obedient. 

How was she not hailed as the puppet master? How were their others above her? 

She would ask them normally. She would command them with  _ the voice _ . But she did not enjoy having to say it a third time. 

She honed the craft over the years. It was like strength training, similar to the way the Colonel lifted his weights, small at first, then increasing the weight, the reps, the duration. Start with one person. Then two at a time. Three. Question someone for an hour straight. Simple commands at first, but not for long.  _ Look at me. Tell me your secrets. Stop your own heart.  _

She had known what that receiving end felt like, long ago. Part of her own training. 

* * *

“Your mind must be strong, dearest. Are you ready?”

She pouted at the woman in front of her. “I don’t know, Nonna, this is scary.”

“Maria, love, you’re thirteen, it’s time.”

“But-“ Sharp red nails dug into her cheeks and forced her head up. She squealed as she looked dead into the cold, slate gray eyes that were so often compared to her own. 

“All you need to do… is not listen. Now,  _ tell me who you are _ .”

The words flew from her lips involuntarily “The Viscontessa Maria Sinistre.” 

Her grandmother scowled at her. “And  _ tell me, who am I? _ ”

“You are my- my-“ she shuddered, trying to hold back, fighting to resist what was now her own ability. “I… don’t know,” she spat through gritted teeth, pushing past the way her mind was screaming at her to listen. 

“Good, good,” her grandmother cooed, dark lips turning up into a smile. “And now, darling,  _ don’t breathe,  _ understand? Fight through it.”

Maria’s throat closed up in an instant, mouth opening and closing like a fish scooped out of the water. She panted and gasped, uselessly, only one small breath of air breaking through. She wanted to breathe and yet she couldn’t. 

“How can you expect to harness this power if you are too weak to beat it? Come now, you aren’t truly going to pass out, are you?”

“P-please,” she wheezed, clawing at the hand that still pinched her face. Her vision became fuzzy, the brooch with the Sinistre family crest clasped to her grandmother’s dress the last sight before darkness overtook her. 

* * *

Being on the other side was much easier. Not completely painless, not at first, especially for a child. 

The sharp raps of heels behind her drowned out the moans in front of her. “Go ahead, love. He is nobody.”

Maria looked down at the man before her, a frightened, shuddering mess, staring back with pleading eyes and thick strips of duct tape wrapped over his mouth. 

“Do what?” she whispered back. 

“Anything. Just do it.”

She chewed her lip thoughtfully, considering her options. He whimpered. Her heart beat faster, pounding against her chest in a way that almost hurt, but she refused to let the fear show. Not this time. 

Slowly she strode to the table in the corner. The man watched her move, paralyzed. He closed his eyes to pray to any higher power that maybe, hopefully, this young girl would find it in herself not to harm him. When he opened them at last, she stood across from him again. 

Standing up straight, unmoving. Black Mary Janes, polished to a shine, plaid pinafore uniform dress resting right at her knees. Long, dark hair hung free and curled to her waist. And those gray eyes, blank. Unemotional. Empty. 

He only noticed the dagger she held when her hand twitched and light reflected off the blade. A sharpened tip and an ornate, jeweled handle. He flinched back when she approached, but she did not attack him. Rather, she laid the dagger on the ground in front of him and stepped back. 

“And what are you going to have him do with that?” The older woman in the back of the room sounded amused, excited even. 

Maria told him exactly what to do with it. 

And he did it. And she watched. 

And she smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record I DO have a whole entire idea about the Contessa’s grandma and this is not it. I’m out here making AUs for my headcanons now I guess


	2. Purgatory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I can’t take this anymore”

“ **I** **can’t take this anymore!** ” Olivia screeched. She lashed her arms out across the table, sending the books and picture frames flying, hitting the ground with a thump and a shatter of glass. Her expression was twisted in rage and pain; tears gathering in the corners of her eyes, teeth bared in a scowl of hatred. 

“I can’t live like this any longer! The way you think, the things you do, it’s all wrong! It’s despicable!” She practically spit the words out, clenching her shaking hands into tight fists. “I refuse to carry on this legacy. This is not how I want to spend my life! My God, look at what it’s doing to  _ you!” _

Maria turned away slightly to hide the bandages around her arm, the wound on her face, the dark circles of exhaustion under her eyes; evidence of the world of villainy that was so ingrained in the Sinistre name. “It is your destiny,” she argued back, keeping the harsh edge in her tone despite wanting to keel over from her pounding headache. “You will do as I tell you.”

“You can’t force me to do this, I’m not going to-“

“You don’t have a CHOICE!” Maria slammed her hands onto the table as her last scream echoed through the room. 

Olivia recoiled, backing up a step or two. Her mother regarded her with disgust; she stared back like she was seeing a monster. All of a sudden it was painfully clear how much it felt like they were two strangers living under the same roof. 

“I would rather die than be like you.”

* * *

  
  


Olivia had requested a transfer to a boarding school in England. Maria tiredly agreed, let the girl plan it all herself, and hadn’t even gone for the ride to the airport. 

She had kept no physical count of the days that had passed, and yet she could always see them in her peripherals, tally marks etched into the cell of a prisoner adding up their life sentence. 

The hallways seemed to stretch on endlessly. Every room was a stage set up for the next act, but missing its key actor. Was each corner just a little too dark? Each window letting in too much light, so bright that it blinds you even when you squint. Too quiet and too noisy. It wasn’t right anymore. Maria had spent her entire life in this house, yet these walls suddenly gave a sense of discomfort she had never before experienced. She found herself glancing over her shoulder in the parlor, freezing in the kitchen to make out any subtle sounds of life, or hearing a floorboard creak in the hall and her hand darting to her hip as if to draw a weapon. 

She sprawled out in the windowsill seat one day, wine glass in hand and forehead pressed gently against the window. With each heavy exhale the panes would fog up; when it disappeared she could make out the distant forest of bare trees and a scattering of steadfast evergreens. Some amount of time had passed. Perhaps an hour, she couldn’t be sure. Could’ve been five minutes. 

Tiny, tiny snowflakes fell, the kind so easily scattered by wind and yet managed to stick upon landing. 

Her grip tightened around the glass - she wanted to break it, shatter it so the fragments dug into her skin and at least she’d  _ feel _ something - then loosened just as quickly. Too much energy. 

“I can’t take this anymore,” she whispered to the snow. 


	3. Alone Again, Naturally

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to do this kinda quick bc I am sleeepyyy but I refuse to fall behind!!
> 
> As for TWs I suppose isolation, slight blood and wound mentions.

Number One’s voice continued to crackle through the speaker, describing exactly how the Contessa could be of use to him. She listened silently, knowing her position was precarious enough as it was, and that any interruption or argument could likely lead to a very sudden, very painful death. 

“I’ll leave you to consider your options,” he stated. “Although,” he added smugly, “I am sure we will find ourselves in agreement. I trust you can imagine the consequences, should you choose not to cooperate.”

With that, the speaker fizzed out into silence and she was once again alone in the room. A shiver ran down her spine at his words - she could imagine, all right, yet she knew any punishment Number One could devise would be far worse than anything in her imagination. 

The Contessa examined the room she was trapped in once more. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing more to notice than she already had. A steel door off to the side, locked, no doubt. The now-silent speaker attached to the wall above the full sized mirror hung directly before her. She could see herself bound to the chair, arms and ankles shackled and tightly locked. 

She gave a few more experimental yanks, pushing upwards against the bounds then trying to slip her arms out. No luck, the metal simply clattered against her jewelry and held firmly in place. 

Her reflection gazed back at her, the only bit of company she had. Her vision blurred a bit due to her monocle having fallen out of place, dangling by its chain from the clasp on her collar. It was just clear enough to make out the bruise forming on her jaw from where the Trinity girl had let loose one solid punch. The Contessa gritted her teeth at the thought. If given the chance, she would have to make that child pay for this, with interest. 

Maybe she would get the chance. If she followed Number One’s orders and ended up back at HIVE-

It wasn’t an ‘if,’ though, was it? No, no, a ‘when.’ Because when Number One asked something if you, you listened. 

And what were her alternatives? Death, or worse. And she had fought too hard for too long to die now. 

But, God, it was getting awfully tiring to carry on. 

It was taking longer than expected for him to reappear on the speaker and demand an answer. She’d been there a while before he had started taking the first time, and she couldn’t be sure how long she had been unconscious. How much time had passed since the events at HIVE, she couldn’t guess. She developed a pattern: struggle, stare at herself, close eyes and ponder her options. 

Kick at the shackle on her left ankle. You look tired. Do what he says, obviously. 

Jerk her elbow backwards to try to free a hand. That bruise is looking quite nasty. But what will he have you do exactly? There must be something he isn’t telling you. 

Pound against the chair, scratching until her nails chip and bleed. You look exhausted, an absolute mess. Just GO and whatever he wants can’t possibly be the worst thing you’ve ever done anyways-

She cried out to the empty room. The sound echoed back and she could hardly recognize it. Like a wounded animal. And the look that her reflection was shooting her. That miserable, broken, failure of a person staring back. Disgusting. 

The Contessa lunged forward, whether in another attempt at breaking free or to smash at the mirror, or both. This too proved futile and she thumped backwards. Raw, red wrists and bloody fingertips protested further movement. 

How long had it been? This was truly all it took, to be the last straw that broke her? Pitiful, she mumbled to herself through panting breaths. She’d give anything for another cigarette right about now. Or to hear that voice again, giving her permission to leave. Anything, Nero and his precious students be damned. 

“Do you have an answer for me, Maria, or do you need more time with your thoughts?”


	4. Like A Butterfly Behind The Glass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: impaling, blood, character death, descriptions of injury

A quick death was too much to ask for after all that she’d done. She’d hoped that it would be fast and relatively painless. Yet the current situation did not exactly surprise her, karma being what it is. 

What goes around, comes around, and stabs you through the chest for good measure. 

The Contessa found herself pinned to the ground by one of the long, thin, metal beams from the hangar, one end planted deep in the earth and the other protruding from her chest. 

The Phalanx had been on their way. She knew that this was perhaps the only way of stopping them from slaughtering the entire school. The thought of all those lives lost- innocent lives, teenagers for the most part, the countless families who would mourn their precious children- had been all too much. 

She was a dead woman no matter how the rest of the day played out. At least this way she could make her life’s last few moments count for something. 

Dropping that last cigarette would be her penance. 

_ It will be over before you know it _ , she had comforted herself.  _ The flames will be far too hot, unbearable actually, it’ll be over in an instant.  _

But of course she couldn’t get out of life that easily. Couldn’t redeem herself through death alone, not without some suffering sprinkled in. 

As soon as that cigarette hit the fuel puddled at her feet, instead of burning to a crisp immediately as she had hoped, the force of the explosion sent her flying off just to the side of the landing pad. The shockwaves and flames devastated the hangar; had the impact of crashing into the ground not caused a dizzying ringing in her ears, she would have heard the subsequent explosions, the twist and groan of metal, and the brief, bloodcurdling screams of the Phalanx that were quickly silenced. 

She didn’t see the beam snap off from the ceiling. She didn’t feel it bury itself through her body and tunnel into the ground below, at least not at first. But she could hear it. Hear her own flesh squelch, hear the inhuman and involuntary cry that wailed through her broken core. When she fought to raise her head, there it was, already painted red with her blood. 

The Contessa was not like a butterfly, collected by an intrigued and studious individual to be pinned with care in a decorative glass display case. She was a moth, snatched out of the air and stabbed with a nail by a cruel child for no other reason than their entertainment. 

  
  


She deserved it, really. 

She turned her face back up towards the sky, maybe that could at least be her last sight before death. The top of the beam was still in her line of sight but with the way her vision was rapidly beginning to blur, she knew she wouldn’t be seeing it for much longer. 

_ I’m sorry, Max. I’m sorry, Professor. Sorry to you too, Colonel, I don’t believe I’ve ever given you a single reason to think positively of me.  _

Flames spread up the skirt of her dress and caught her right arm twisted to the side. She tried her best to ignore the haunting smell of herself burning. 

_ Sh- shouldn’t have done it, should’ve reported Cypher when I had the chance. I was too greedy. Should have refu- refused to- _

The hole in her chest screamed in pain as a hacking cough pulsed through what was left of her broken body. Something splattered her neck, blood most likely. 

_ Wish I could have seen home one last time. Home… Oh, the girl. Lu- what is to become of Lucia? Damn. Oh, no _ .  _ Forgive me, Lucia, for everything. It’s getting so dark here. BlackBox very resistant I can call for help it isn’t too late I can reach it someone can help can help me can save Lucia can fix it I need to just  _


	5. Take Me Instead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: child in danger

“Mama! Help me!”

Maria stood in horror, and terribly outnumbered, as a group of thugs in similar dark suits closed in a circle formation around her, her young daughter at the other end, one man holding her arm in an iron-like grip. Olivia had tears streaming down her cheeks, sobbing for help as she squirmed uselessly. 

Maria considered her options frantically, already scrambled at the sight of her daughter in imminent danger. She was unarmed. No backup was nearby. She couldn’t fight in hand-to-hand combat against one person, let alone this many. And  _ the voice _ was likely out of the question against such a large group; the fear catching in her throat practically made it impossible to talk normally right now, anyways. 

“Well, well, well. Look who’s made an appearance.” A man, clearly the leader, sauntered forward with one hand tucked in the pocket of his sport coat and the other flicking a switchblade open and shut. He fixed her with a cocky, crooked grin, the clicks of his knife punctuating every other word. “What a coincidence. Verrrry convenient for us, isn’t that right, gentlemen?”

“What is the meaning of this?” Maria demanded. With back straight and furious expression, she tried to maintain an air of composure, that she would always be the one in control no matter what, but the edge in her voice and heaving chest were cracks in the facade. Her eyes twitched nervously between these men and her poor, frightened daughter. “What do you want?” Although she knew the answer to that all too well. 

“What we wanted was you, doll,” the man grinned wider, exposing his perfectly white teeth. “We assumed we wouldn’t get ya though, always gotta have a Plan B, amiright?”

“Let her go this instant,” she hissed. 

He continued on as if there had been no interruption. “Figured the best way to catch a mama bear was to trap the cub first.” A snap of the wrist and he sent his knife in cartwheels up in the air, the polished blade shining in the receding sunlight, as just as quickly he snatched it cleanly back into his grasp. “Thought that taking the kid would make ya a little more inclined to listen. Especially once a finger or two was delivered in the mail. Maybe an ear.”

“Mama, please,” the little girl whimpered, choking out little sobs. 

“Well, here I am.” Maria held her arms out to the sides, a casual gesture despite her unsteady hands. “I’m listening. So there is no longer a need to involve her.”

The man wagged a finger at her admonishingly. “I’m not so sure about that, Signora. We want you to suffer, you see, and there are many paths to reaching that goal. Maybe we’ll come back for you another time. Maybe…” He moved quickly, opening the blade once more and whipped it behind him without looking back. It buried itself firmly into the dirt by Olivia’s feet, and she let out a high pitched scream. 

“No!” Maria yelled. “Take me! Take me instead! I surrender, but only if you let her go, and you  _ take me instead! _ ” She hated the panic in her voice, that feeling of being powerless in such a situation. Yet she felt no fear for herself, only her child. Her only source of strength at this moment was that urge to protect her baby. 

Perhaps it was that strength, that determination, that allowed  _ the voice _ to push through at last, if only for the briefest of moments. Something at least must have caused a change of heart in the man in black, as he had just begun to say that she was really in no position to make demands- why wouldn’t they just take both Sinistres? - before he faltered, his face dropping into the slightest expression of confusion. 

“Very well,” he agreed in an oddly quiet voice. “If that’s your choice.” 

He nodded almost imperceptibly, she assumed at her, but then she noticed the way his gaze shifted ever so subtly to the side of her and how that lopsided grin stretched across his cheeks. She didn’t have the chance to turn completely around before the man she hadn’t known was behind her slammed something heavy directly into the side of her head. 

The last words she heard before slipping into unconsciousness were more helpless cries of “No, Mama, no!”


	6. Wake Me Up Inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: insomnia

Two in the morning sitting out on the balcony, tapping another shouldering cigarette against the railing. The harsh cut that barely missed Maria’s eye stings in the cool breeze. She’s tired, yes, but that’s been the only constant in her life the past few weeks. All day is spent staring blankly at the damask walls of the third floor sitting room; all night, the plain white ceiling of her bedroom. For the occasional change of scenery she sits by the window or, like now, on the balcony. She looks out, but doesn’t see. 

She raises her chin and blows the smoke out slowly like a sigh. Even if she could sleep, she worries about what her dreams will bring. 

* * *

Midnight. Another one of those nights, most likely. The Contessa huffs as she paces her quarters, rubbing at her temples. The eighth night in a row. The lack of sleep thankfully hadn’t disrupted her teaching abilities, and the students had been behaving much better than usual, although that was probably due to how quick to anger she’d been, snapping at them for even the slightest hint of misconduct. 

She sunk into the stool in front of her vanity with a grunt to undo and rebraid her hair. The bags under her eyes were heavier than yesterday, her cheeks more hollow. If only she could use her powers on herself, to force herself to sleep for at least twelve hours, maybe more. She yawned again, cut off by a wince from another strong headache pang. So tired. It was almost enough to bring her to tears. 

* * *

The Contessa hadn’t glanced at the clock in… well, she didn’t know how long. How long she’d spent in what used to be Max’s desk chair, had been the Professor’s for three months, and was now hers as long as she didn’t screw anything else up. Those nights behind bars while she waited for her fate to be decided (it was Number One snatching her up and moving her like yet another one of his chess pieces) hadn’t been very restful nights, so she was all the more prepared for one more sleepless night. 

Her elbows rested on the desk, her hands caught up in the front of her hair, twisting it out of place from her majestic curved updo. The protocol Number One had sent glowed on the monitor. She stared at it with increasing dread, a sick feeling churning in the pit of her stomach. It was possible that maybe, possibly, she had gotten herself in over her head this time. She leaned back and pinched the bridge of her nose, head spinning with thoughts and fears and every option she could take moving forward. She pressed the intercom button on the desktop to call for a cup of coffee. Why even pretend she’d be getting any sleep tonight?


	7. I like my town with a little drop of poison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couldn’t decide between the idea I really wanted to do, and one that for the prompt better. So I did what I wanted, then threw in a little bit of the better one at the end (unrelated to the first part).
> 
> TWs: smoking, poisoning
> 
> Don’t smoke, kids.

The last cluster students exited the classroom after the final class of the day, chattering excitedly amongst themselves. A few called out a polite “good evening, Contessa” back at her, to which she nodded in response. Once the doors had slid closed, she reclined back in her chair with a sigh and ignored the paperwork on her desk in favor of the slim silver cigarette case she carried at all times. She popped it open and removed one thin cigarette, sticking it firmly in the ebony holder, and fished through her other dress pocket for the lighter. Like the case, it was silver and bore her initials and Sinistre crest engraved at the bottom. She flicked the flames on in one smooth  _ click _ and lit the end of the cigarette, bringing the holder to her lips for that first long inhale. 

She watched the smoke dance around the classroom as she exhaled, lazily twirling the holder between her fingers and thumb. A nasty habit. One she should’ve quit long ago. 

The first time Maria Sinistre had smoked had been on her 18th birthday, a passage into adulthood of sorts, lighting one up with her grandmother in the gardens of their estate. She’d broke into a coughing fit immediately while Nonna watched, laughing, and admitted it took a while to get accustomed to. 

The day of her wedding, she had snuck out to the backyard of the reception hall with her husband to get away from the noise and crowd for a moment. They’d shared a single cigarette, passing it back and forth along with laughter and warm glances. 

After any particularly successful endeavor, like successfully rigging a local election to have one of their men elected mayor, or swapping a Da Vinci painting with a replica to hang the genuine art in their living room, her father would pat her on the back and offer her one of his cigars. 

A long time to carry such an unhealthy habit. She’d been willingly poisoning herself all these years, and she knew that, but she just couldn’t bring herself to care enough to do anything otherwise. It could’ve been the invincible feeling that simply came with being her. She was  _ the _ Contessa Sinistre, member of the single most powerful organization in the world, senior staff member at its premier school. Nobody could touch her. 

Except the cigarettes, of course. There was that fear, somewhere far back in her mind that she rarely acknowledged, that maybe something was already taking hold inside her that did not so easily let go. She’d asked for no further tests at her annual checkups, scaring the staff doctors away with one look whenever they had inquired about her smoking habits. For all she knew, at this very moment, it could already be too late. 

She gave her cigarette a hesitant look, thinking for a moment, then raised it back to her lips with a shrug. 

Pick your poison, she thought. If not this, then it would be something else. 

* * *

* * *

* * *

Luckily it hadn’t been too late when someone found her. Maria, collapsed onto a loveseat, arm draped over the edge with the fallen wine glass laying in the dark red puddle it created on the rug. Her eyelids were closed but fluttered weakly at the commotion. Afterwards she would vaguely recall many voices calling out her name, someone shaking her shoulders, and a cool hand cupping her cheek. 

First aid had been at the scene, a necessary precaution at events such as these. She was treated and rushed straight to bed, where she would miss the ensuing game of Clue, and the rather horrifying end that befell the man that tried to poison her. 

All in all, it was not the worst party the Sinistres had even thrown. 


	8. So Long, And Goodnight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: car accident mention, hospital, wounds, implied death
> 
> This is a part 2 of another chapter that will come later in the month!

“‘S really you, huh?” Olivia slurred out with a droopy semblance of a smile. 

The Contessa nodded solemnly from the chair near the hospital bed, where the daughter she hadn’t seen in decades lay broken and bloody. “Yes. It is.”

A car accident. Out of every possible scenario, it had been a car accident. The Contessa had thoroughly examined every potentially deadly situation long ago, from assassins, to fake robberies, to a cybernetic shark attack, and set up countermeasures for each of them. Anything that one of her enemies could plan as vengeance after locating her daughter. And here they were now, room 4750 at St. Sebastian’s Hospital, after a single van had run past a red light and straight into Olivia Dexter’s car. Apparently unrelated to her family’s villainous career. Just a mother on her way home from dropping her daughter off at school, caught in the crosshairs of a stranger’s poor judgement. 

Maria couldn’t decide where to rest her eyes, when everything in the room was so horrible. At any other time she would have been bothered the most by the tacky decor; now her attention was occupied by the array of machines all making worrisome beeps, hooked up to her daughter, who looked, well…

Olivia had grown. She wasn’t a child anymore like she had been the last time they’d spoken. It wasn’t easy to admire the adult she had become when her face was puffy and scraped, fresh blood mixing with dried, a nasty bruise spreading across the whole left side of her face. Not to mention all the other wounds and punctures and shattered bones over the rest of her. Some had been attended to and stitched up already, although the quick surgeries had seemed to do just as much good as a band-aid. 

“Lucy okay?” Olivia wheezed, the oxygen tubes and painkillers still not enough. 

“Perfectly, she wasn’t there. You’d already dropped her off at school. Remember?”

She hummed weakly in response. Her eyes rolled up to the ceiling, down at the bedsheets, back to her mother. “You. Really came.”

“Of course.” The Contessa leaned forward and suffered through what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “As soon as I’d heard.” She didn’t say how she had heard, how she had still kept tabs on the younger woman after all these years, but neither felt like bringing it up. 

“What did the, the doctors say?”

She hesitated, biting the edge of her lip in a nervous sort of way that she never did before. The doctors had not been optimistic. They were considering their next course of action, but seemed to look at Maria in such a way as if to say that it wouldn’t do any good. But no, no. People had survived through worse. One nurse had mentioned Olivia responded well to one of the treatments. So why not the others? 

She turned away from the harsh truth in favor of clutching at any bit of false hope. 

Maria cleared her throat and tried to deliver the response in the best way possible. “Well, it isn’t… you aren’t currently in the best of shape. But don’t fret, they are discussing how to proceed as we speak. I’ve already informed them that money is no object. You will receive the very best care-“ She stuttered to a halt, fumbling over whether to call her by name or by some affectionate term, neither of which she felt she earned the rights to. 

Olivia raised her right hand, slowly, reaching out towards the older woman, who tentatively reached back and gently held onto her. 

She whispered, “Lucy.”

“Is fine,” the Contessa said, confused. “I already told you.”

“I want you to… take care of her for me. It’s already… in my will.”

The horrifying understanding hit. “Don’t talk like that, you aren’t going anywhere.”

“Mmm. Promise me.”

The Contessa looked like she had been smacked. The implication was too awful to bear. She said nothing. 

“Mama. Please.” 

“You will be fine,” she insisted a bit more harshly than intended. 

Olivia smiled once more, small and weary, then turned her head to the other side. 

The Contessa sighed and tried recollecting her thoughts for a moment. This wasn’t the time to act this way. Not the time to argue, again. Someone had to be the bigger person at some point. 

She turned her focus back to her daughter, who had stilled and closed her eyes. 

“Hey. Hey, this is no time to sleep, the doctor will be in at any moment. Olivia.” No answer. She squeezed her hand, but again no response. Anxiously she shook her shoulder, careful to avoid the bandages.

“Get up. Olivia, wake up!” An alarm at the other side of the bed went off and the room was flooded with doctors and nurses almost immediately. A few made a beeline over to the Contessa and pulled her gently but firmly away, loosening her daughter’s hand from her grip and ushered her towards the exit, while she continued to yell frantically. 

“I promise! I will! She’ll be safe, I swear, I promise, Olivia, I’m sor-.” A nurse pushed her out the doorway and out of the view of the bedside. 

Over their rushed tones and rapid footsteps she could make out the harsh buzz of the heart monitor flatlining. The door was slammed shut in her face and she gasped, a soft, gentle, “oh.” 

Her hands flew up to cup over her mouth and she clenched her eyes shut hard. Focus on your breathing. In, out, in, out, her breath stuttered in her chest. Head spinning. Dazed. Lost. But how could you lose something you’d already lost so long ago?

Another jagged inhale, and the Contessa turned abruptly for the waiting area. Let herself sit in one of those miserable plastic chairs and await some doctor to come out and tell her the news she already knew. 


	9. Descent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: someone gets buried alive

When Maria was nine years old she watched her father bury a man alive. 

Not him personally. He had his subordinates do it for him, of course. But he was the one who ordered it, who had decided on it. 

Her mother wouldn’t have wanted her to see that. But her mother hadn’t known. 

Whatever the man had done to deserve this had been explained to her, as if it were perfectly justifiable, but it has already slipped her mind. It was hard to focus on a lecture when mere feet away someone was being dragged through the grass, screaming, towards their own grave. A few of their henchmen kicked at him with derisive laughs. Maria flinched at every blow. 

His limbs were bound, he was not gagged. No one would hear anyways, not all the way out here. A rough push sent him tumbling into the hole, six or seven feet deep at least.  _ They didn’t put him in a box _ , she thought.  _ But you’re supposed to put them in a box _ . 

She felt she was too old to carry around a stuffed animal any more, although that was exactly the sort of comfort she craved in this moment. Instead she wrapped herself around her father’s arm, hugging it close, while watching the men shovel dirt back into the hole. 

The center of the field: familiar faces, comrades, people that had eaten dinner with her family, one of them pleading for mercy as the others piled earth on top of him. 

Off to the side: her father, tall, stoic, unwavering; herself, wide eyed, confused, her cheek pressed hard against his sleeve while she stared ahead with frightened curiosity.

His cries became more and more muffled and occasionally mixed in with coughs. She suddenly was aware that there would be a moment when the noise stopped. It was not a moment she wanted to be front and center for. But, like Father said as he scooped her into his arms and patted her head where it rested on his shoulder, we must see things through to the very end.

She had a few nightmares over the next few years of being in that man’s position. She would claw at the dirt in frenzied attempts to scramble up until her nails bled, and yell until her voice was hoarse. Then she would wake up and take a deep breath of relief. These nightmares, thankfully, were something she grew out of. 

Many years later as the platform lowered her and the other teachers down into the volcano for that first time, sinking down deeper and deeper into the darkness of the half-finished school, the Contessa had the strangest feeling of déjà vu. It was a sudden flash of fear that disappeared as quickly as it came.  _ I wonder what that was about,  _ she thought to herself and crossed her arms tighter across her chest. 


	10. Destined for Failure

Two teenagers fought sloppily through the hallways of the abandoned building. Neither skilled in hand to hand combat, they threw haphazard punches and scratched at each other, trying to grab handfuls of hair to slam the other into the concrete walls, or kick at any open weak spot. A gun had been drawn by one of them, then wrestled back and forth, then knocked to the floor. 

One gained the upper hand at last with a kick to their opponent’s knee and a punch that missed the chin but landed on the neck. While they wobbled backwards and steadied themselves on the ground, she scrambled for the gun and swung it forward like a club. It connected directly in the center of their forehead, and they collapsed onto the ground with a cry. 

Maria stepped over and planted her foot on her opponent’s chest, digging the heel of her boot into their chest with no remorse. Staring back up at her was the familiar face of a classmate, a friend. The other girl’s hair was matted with sweat and blood. Her glasses cracked on one side and bent on the other. 

She looked past the barrel of the gun pointed directly at her and gave her would-be assailant a sad smile. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

Maria hesitated but kept her aim, cautious of any tricks. “Know what?”

“Who you were at first, the day we met. Do you remember?” They both did. A few weeks into the new semester and Maria’s other friends had been making up a test during lunch period. She wasn’t used to being alone anymore, not since meeting them, so she struck up a conversation with the quiet girl in the corner. 

A dangerous thing to do when many of the students came from… certain families. Families that, historically, passed grudges through their generations like precious jewels. 

“I was new, I didn’t know a soul, and no one wanted to talk to me. But you did,” she continued softly, fondly. “By the time I learned your name, it was too late. I already liked you. But I should’ve stopped getting involved. I knew we’d end up like this eventually, although I’d hoped I’d be the one holding the gun.”

The girl chuckled wryly and laid her cheek down into the dirt. Maria watched, listened, but offered no sentiments of her own. 

“So, sorry for sticking around. That must make it harder for you to shoot me.”

“Not particularly. You’ve always assumed too much about me. I’m not who you’ve made me out to be.” The telltale click of the safety switching off sounded through the room. 

“Wait. Wait!” The young lady raised her voice for the first time and fear cracked across her face, as her self preservation instincts kicked up through her previously cool facade. ”You don’t have to do this! We could’ve been great friends!”

“I agree,” Maria replied, pulling the trigger. 


	11. Memory, all alone in the moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tw: hallucinations
> 
> Apologies for any mistakes, I’m kinda dizzy? So I’m just gonna post, and edit later I guess

Lucy was crying, again. “I hate it here! I want to go home!”

The Contessa was _trying_ to be sympathetic, but honestly this was getting annoying. Why couldn’t children do what they were told? Just pipe down and listen, it isn’t difficult. 

“For the last time, this is your home now.”

This only made the child cry harder. Exasperated, she muttered a few words of comfort and tried to pat Lucy on the head - that’s considered a caring gesture, is it not? - but Lucy recoiled and bolted towards the direction of her new bedroom. Seconds later a door slammed shut so hard that the pictures on the wall shook. 

_That went well_. The Contessa groaned as she paced back and forth, wondering how to handle this. Obviously this was a tough situation for the both of them and she was at a loss on what to do about it. Get the kid settled, hire a tutor and a few extra bodyguards, and get back to the school as soon as possible. That had been the plan, but she couldn’t just leave Lucy here as a sobbing mess, could she? Well, she could, although it probably wouldn’t make her seem like a very good grandmother…

A chill down her back stopped her suddenly in her tracks. She wasn’t sure what happened for a moment, crossing her arms over her chest protectively and examining the room. No danger, just a dim, empty room. No one else was around at this time except for her and Lucy, so what was the problem-

Oh. That’s it. 

The empty room. The empty house. 

How many years had it been since the Contessa had been back here, how long since it had felt alive?

It didn’t feel like a home anymore, not now. It felt like she had forgotten what it looked like: the color of the walls, the paintings and photographs, what lay beyond which door, where she used to spend her time. Dark. Foreign. Different. 

The estate wasn’t abandoned by any means, it wasn’t falling apart or covered in thick layers of dust. Maids had been hired for the inside, landscapers for the exterior. But beyond the simple tidying up, nothing else was to be touched. It was to look perfect in case she ever dropped by (a true rarity), it was to be as if she had stepped into a time capsule and everything would look as it did the day she first left. 

Which made the unfamiliar feeling all the more odd. The Contessa pressed the back of her hand onto her dizzy head to steady herself and took a few deep breaths with her eyes scrunched closed. “You remember it here,” she muttered to herself, trying to will it into being the truth. “Almost thirty years of good memories. You can remember. Better times.”

She was in the outside hallway, forehead against one of the large picture windows, gripping the curtains in a clenched fist. When had she walked out here? She hadn’t been there a second ago. It was nearly eight o’clock at night and yet she could see the yard bathed in early afternoon sunlight, people playing croquet, young children chasing each other through the flower beds. She blinked and they were gone. 

The library. She pushed open the heavy wooden door, the scent of ink and paper caressing her. 

_Mother sat in her green chair, feet propped up on the ottoman. She was flipping through another biography of Napoleon, but looked up and smiled when the door opened. Her mouth opened and-_

But the Contessa couldn’t hear anything. The room was silent. From the light shining in from the hallway she could make out the silhouette of a few books stacked in the end table. The titles were on the tip of her tongue. 

She turned back and stumbled on further. Up ahead… the study? Nonno’s study. 

_“You won’t believe this,” her grandpa said, rustling through the newspaper. “A horrible earthquake in Sicily. An X on the Mercalli scale. Awful, just awful.” He scratched at his thinning hair and coughed, when did he start looking so frail-_

She was running now, nearly tripping over her heels to- 

To what? Get away from the memories? Hurry towards more? Were they memories at all, or something else? Maybe she did remember it here, maybe she didn’t. 

She stumbled at the top of the staircase, grabbing the railing to steady herself. 

_“I wish I could do that. Say things to people and always have them listen.” Her cousin frowned from his perch on the top step. “It’s like magic. Hey, you won’t use it on me, right? Promise?” He reached out with his pinkie extended to seal the promise._

She blinked to reality again, holding her hand out to the empty space in front of her. 

“My god, what is happening to me?” she whispered. 

_“Are you okay?”_

She jumped and spun around to see a little girl with dark hair and bright blue eyes, watching her curiously. The Contessa closed her eyes, waited a few seconds, and opened them again, expecting this figure to vanish too. 

To her surprise, it didn’t. 

“I said, are you okay?” Lucy repeated. 

“... I don’t know.”


	12. Unrecognizable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for today was “who are you?” Btw

“Hurry up,” the Contessa commanded. She was one step behind Nero, weapon hidden, but there was no doubt that she was the one in control at this very moment. 

Nero tried to keep up a calm appearance, but those who knew him well would recognize the troubled glint in his eyes, or the clench of his jaw. 

“I still don’t understand why you would do this, Maria. You of all people. We all trusted you.” He gave a quick wave to a few students passing by and echoed back their greeting, impressed with the way he could keep on pretending everything was normal. 

The Contessa nodded at the students and smiled wide, like a shark. “That was your first mistake, wasn’t it?” She spoke in a fake, sickly sweet tone until everyone else was out of sight. Then she dropped both the act and the smile. 

“Like I said, you’re too preoccupied with the past, Max. Times have changed, and if you refuse to change with them, well then…” 

She slipped the gun out of her pocket and held it half-hidden under her fur coat, jamming the end into his lower back. “Keep moving. Try anything, and I’ll kill Brand and Trinity myself. And it won’t be quick, I promise you that much.”

He watched her as they kept walking, brow furrowed. He shook his head and wondered how the person standing before him suddenly sounded so different, so far away from someone he had considered a friend just this morning. “Who  _ are _ you?” he asked in disbelief, this turn of events still rather shocking for him. 

She chuckled, a low and unpleasant sound. “The same person I’ve always been, Max. It’s your own fault for not realizing that.”

“You’re the same, then?” He dared to speak louder, with an edge. “So what was all that about change? Make up your mind.”

The gun pressed harder into his back and his breath caught in his throat, silencing further protests.

“You do  _ not _ want to upset me right now. Unless you’d like the next graduating Alpha class to be short about five students.”

This isn’t you, Nero wanted to say, to plead to her true self. Although if the past half hour had taught him anything, it was that he didn’t actually know her at all. 


	13. At least it’s strong

“The amount of paperwork we have is astounding, I thought we lived in a digital age.” The Contessa complained as she searched up and down the rows of shelves that lined the storeroom. Boxes upon boxes filled the shelves and stacked on top of each other until they nearly touched the ceiling. 

At last she found what she was looking for, and exclaimed “aha!” while tapping a fingernail against a box marked ‘Iceland Records - Students A-M’ in faded black marker. 

“Here it is,” she yelled back at the Colonel, who had apparently decided the best way to check the top rows was to scale up the shelves like a rock climbing wall. He shouted some response, which she ignored with an eye roll while he made his way down. 

She slid the long, dust covered box outwards and grabbed both handles. A sharp pain shot through her left arm as she tried lifting it, causing her to bite back a yelp and drop the box back down on the shelf, sending a cloud of dust up into her face. 

She held her arm to her chest and turned away coughing.  _ Still not healed _ . She cursed to herself, recalling the event almost two weeks ago that injured her in the first place. 

Her excuse for a brief leave from HIVE had been to drop in at home to take care of some ‘family business,’ which technically she did do. She just happened to stop on the way back for a tour of Cypher’s facility. If she was going to become an ally of his, she had to make sure he actually had the ability to carry out his plan. 

He sounded confident, detailing his plan and bragging about his superior forces. 

“I’m not so certain about that,” she told him, almost smugly. “Even if I lower HIVE’s defense systems, there is still the security team to deal with. And, of course, Raven.” She raised an eyebrow. “Do you think your soldiers can handle that?”

“With ease, Contessa, with ease.” He laughed; she found it unnerving that she couldn’t see his expression, just a distorted reflection of herself. “Behold.” 

The doors opened up to reveal an impressive line of machinery, quickly and efficiently assembling what appeared to be…

“Robots?” She watched, puzzled, as torsos filled with wires were welded shut, limbs added, and heads screwed on to create eerie humanoid weapons. “And, you are certain these are strong enough?”

“Please, allow me to demonstrate.” He placed a hand on her shoulder to guide her along the marked path. She shot him a dagger like glare, to which he removed his hand and simply gestured to the right direction. 

One robot stood before them, this one clad in a full bodied black outfit. It appeared truly human with its metal surface hidden. Cypher explained what went into their creation, what materials, the fighting knowledge programmed, and other detailed technical information that she didn’t understand nor care about. And then just when she was getting bored, he commanded it to show off its strength, something along the lines of smashing through the metal wall or sparring with another robot. 

Instead, it flew out faster than the eye could see and crunched the Contessa’s forearm in its iron like grip. She screamed but it would not let go, in fact, it only tightened its hold even more. A whirring noise sounded out from the robot and it began to turn her arm to the side slowly, as if to twist her around until the bone snapped in two. 

Cypher was shouting, she didn’t know what, and he rushed over to what must have been a control console and slammed down on the kill switch. The robot stopped, released her, and then fell back to its default pose of standing perfectly straight with arms at its sides. 

She held her wrist, panting, and watched an angry red mark appear across her wrist and down almost to her elbow. Cypher had been frantically nervous and apologetic, both out of his need to keep her on his good side, and out of fear of her retaliation. The programming isn’t completely perfected yet, still a few bugs, nothing to worry about, blah blah blah. 

Yet, surprisingly, she hadn’t been furious like he expected. “Those will suffice. Yes, definitely.” She rubbed her sore arm and smiled deviously. “This will work.”

Now, over a week and a half later, the Contessa found herself angry at Cypher. It hurt still, and it was getting annoying to not be able to lift things or move in certain ways. She couldn’t exactly go to the medical bay either, not with the large amount of bruising in the faint shape of a handprint. Too hard to explain away. Maybe she could  _ convince _ one doctor to fix her up without explanation. However, if it was bad enough to require a cast or medical procedure, she couldn’t go around hypnotizing everyone at HIVE into believing that it was nothing. 

Luckily her wardrobe consisted mostly of dark, long sleeved dresses which hid the appearance of the injury well. The results of it, like wincing whenever something came into contact with it, or dropping heavier objects, were harder to conceal. 

“Having trouble?”

The Contessa jumped in the air as Colonel Francisco’s voice broke her out of her thoughts. “Oh! Well. You see,” she began to rattle off an excuse, hiding her arms behind her back. 

“No worries. These boxes are stuffed to the brim, they get pretty heavy. I’ll take care of it.” With that, he hoisted the box up like it was nothing and turned to leave. 

She smiled awkwardly and followed, arms still safely crossed behind her. “Ah, yes, thank you.” She followed him out, pain still pulsing through her wrist, and had a realization. Someone like the Colonel, so easy to convince, to manipulate, could come in handy very soon. 


	14. The Wrong Companions, Cold and Monumental

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: “I didn’t mean it.”

The Contessa did not enjoy unpleasant conversations, unless it was only unpleasant for the other parties involved. Watching them squirm while she held all the cards, making them wince and avert their eyes with only a single word… great fun indeed. 

But now she was the one who did not want to be present for this. Now she was the one shuffling back and forth, hemming and hawing over her words. She had avoided this talk for as long as possible, and it was now or never. 

“Eugh.” She closed her eyes and decided to get it over with. “I am… not good at apologies. You know this.”

She knew they agreed, even without getting an answer. 

“But I know that I have made some… poor choices in the past. I could have approached certain events in other ways. I was not very… listening, I wasn’t a good listener, I mean to say-“ she stammered. Not off to a great start. 

They had waited long enough to hear this, she knew she should just keep going. 

“So. I should have listened to you more. I should have actually tried to discuss things with you. I only did whatever  _ I  _ wanted to do, and I know now that was… selfish.” The words tasted bitter and foreign on her tongue. “And there were things that I said, that I probably should not have. Well, you said things too.”

Silence. 

“Fine, yes, it was all my fault, I started it, always. Ugh,” she rubbed at her temples and groaned some more. 

“Look. I’m s- I’m sorry. I acted dreadfully. And that last day at the house… you know what I’m referring to… “ Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “I said some inexcusable things. I want you to know, I  _ need _ you to know… I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean any of it. I’m so, so sorry.”

There was still no response, but she hadn’t been expecting one. 

The Contessa opened her eyes to once again take in the sight of the gravestone at her feet. So cold and dull, nothing like the person who rested beneath it. 

She had waited far too long to say what needed to be said, but a small part of herself had told her it still wasn’t too late, which was why she found herself here today. To get it all off her chest. 

“So why don’t I feel any better?”


	15. Come Back To Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: blood. Implied murder?

_Nonna looked sharply into the distance at something young Maria couldn’t see; although she likely wouldn’t have understood anyways, being too young and naive of the way their world worked._

_“I want you to run, and not look back. You hear me, child? This could turn messy.” Nonna didn’t seem all too upset about it, however. Something like excitement flashed through her eyes, and the ends of her mouth curled up into what resembled a smile, only worse._

_Maria grabbed at her grandmother’s skirts and hung tightly to her. “But why? I want to stay with you.”_

_“Do you now?”_

_“Um… yes?” She was too curious now. Something was going to happen and she didn’t want to miss out._

_Her grandmother pulled Maria up to stand alongside her, wrapping an arm loosely around her shoulders. “You have a front row seat then. Watch and learn.”_

  
  


“Run, don’t look back. Do you understand me?” Maria commanded. 

Olivia’s eyes widened as she frantically glanced between her mother and the cobblestone path bathed in shadows from which they had arrived. “What? But… no, Mama, why?” 

She knelt to the ground so they were face to face and gripped both of her shoulders tightly. “Listen to me. Something very bad is about to happen, and I refuse to have you witness it. You need to go. Run, find your father, you’ll be fine. I just need you to leave.”

“By myself? But that’s scary!”

“Trust me, it would be more frightening for you if you stay.” With that, she raised herself back up and pushed the girl off in the opposite direction. “Now go.”

“But I don’t-“

“GO.”

Olivia bolted back down the path, heart pounding and on the verge of tears. She heard her mother yelling at her to not turn back, no matter what, to just keep running until she found someone she could trust. Several loud _bangs_ echoed out behind her. Someone screamed, but it didn’t sound like her mother, so surely that meant everything was okay. It meant Mama wasn’t hurt. 

Darkness closed in as she ran down the unfamiliar trail, alone, chilling her to the core. She twisted and turned down corners at random, running faster and faster and go go go if you stop there could be a monster behind you and it’ll grab you with its claws and eat you alive-

Her foot caught on a loose stone and she nearly tripped, steadying herself against a fence post. She took this as a chance to catch her breath, curling down into a ball to hide herself from anyone, or anything, that could be following. 

She hadn’t heard any noises since that scream, besides her own panting and heavy footfalls. And that was good. Mama was safe, no one had hurt her. 

Although…

Olivia didn’t like the thought that emerged after connecting a few dots. 

What if _mama_ was the one hurting people?

Only bad guys hurt people. And mama couldn’t be bad.

Right? 

* * *

“Mama!” Olivia jumped to her feet the second she heard the front door open. Relief flooded through her at the sight of her mother coming home, alive, and she dashed over to see her. 

Until something caught her attention and she skidded to a stop. 

“Mama… you’re bleeding,” she whimpered. 

Maria picked at the bloody stain splashed across the side of her formerly pristine white blouse. “Oh, no, don’t worry. That isn’t mine.” She slid an embroidered handkerchief from her skirt pocket and dabbed at the unsightly mark. 

“Why do you look so afraid? I told you, I’m fine. Olivia, come back! Where are you going?”


	16. Sticks and Stones

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: broken bones, mentions or torture/violence

“Have you ever broken a bone?” was today’s lunchtime discussion at the staff table. 

Colonel Francisco had his fair share of broken bones throughout his history of combat. Professor Pike had been involved in a few unfortunate lab incidents over the years, some experiment failures leaving him in a cast for a while. Not that he minded, apparently; he announced his injuries with equal, if not more, casualness than Francisco. 

Tabitha, with her grace and dexterity, had never broken anything, although one particularly nasty fall from a vent had sprained her ankle. Nero admitted to breaking an arm once, but by the embarrassed way he relayed this information they could only assume it was caused not by some impressive heist, but by the silly, mundane sort of tomfoolery that rowdy teenagers got up to. 

The Contessa seemed appalled at the suggestion that she would have ever broken a bone. She was a  _ lady _ , with a sense of propriety, not some ruffian who gets into fistfights. No offense Raven, she added. (Just because you couldn’t see Raven didn’t mean she wasn’t there.) They all hummed in agreement, not a single one of them believing it. 

As Ms. Tennenbaum’s monotone voice droned on through an incredibly uninteresting story about her collarbone, the Contessa’s thoughts drifted to fragments of long ago memories. 

All bandaged up. Full of gauze and plaster. Lying in bed as the days all blurred together. It was a time that she can barely remember, and for that she is thankful. 

Take me instead, she had told them. And they did. And she could remember the blood, losing count of the number of stab wounds as that little switchblade dug through her skin like a hot knife through butter. When it swiped so close to her eye… here in the present day she gritted her teeth and absentmindedly adjusted her monocle at the thought of it. 

But the bones, she just couldn’t recall. It wasn’t like the movies when you heard a  _ snap _ and saw a thin sliver of white poking out of your flesh. It wasn’t a crunch under a boot, or a swift twist out of malice. Or perhaps it had been, all she knew was waking up in the hospital with everything set and covered up, and the long recovery at home where she looked everywhere except a mirror. 

No, she didn’t have a broken bone story; she had an aftermath story. One she couldn’t tell because it was gray and blurry, like fast forwarding through an old tape. 

Fine by her. That’s one less thing to worry about. Can’t dwell on the past if it’s a blank page. 

Ms. Gonzales laughed through a retelling of when her brother pushed her too high on the swing set and she fell and broke something. 

_ How charming, how quaint _ , the Contessa tried her hardest not to sneer,  _ it must be fun to not have your ribs snapped like dry spaghetti.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m like, aware that using spaghetti as a comparison is probably laughable and non whumpy, but.. have you ever taken a thick bunch of dry noodles and just s n a p p e d the whole thing in half? That’s the vibes, man.


End file.
